


Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 14:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11670756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: When Faraday and Vasquez get drunk, they get stubborn. They also get stupid, but 'who can go the longest without sex' might just be the new winner forhowstupid they can be.





	Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better

It’s a well-known fact amongst them that as soon as any of them have five drinks in their system, that’s when not even Red or Sam can use their logic to sway the group away from ridiculous decisions, ideas, and thoughts that won’t look so pretty in the light of day. It’s when _bad_ ideas are pitched as good ones. This is very much known to all of them and while Vasquez should probably start insisting that they slow down around drink number four, he’s never been that kind of sensible, truth be told. Not to mention, he really loves his tequila.

Tonight, they’ve got something big to celebrate coming up, what with Billy and Goodnight finally tying the knot in just a week. It would be stupid to stop at five drinks. Later, Vasquez will think better of that thought.

“No, no, come on,” Sam protests, laughing so hard that his shoulders are shaking, while Emma has her face hidden as she presses her forehead to the curve of Sam’s back. “You two are doing that _on purpose_? You two?” he asks, gesturing between Billy and Goodnight.

“We decided it’d make the wedding night more enjoyable,” Goodnight drawls, swaying back and forth slightly. While his words might be crisp and clear, his body’s movements give away that he, too, is drunk off his ass. “Building up that anticipation,” he says, giving Billy a fool’s smile, “not to mention depriving yourself typically means the night itself is going to be incredible.”

Billy keeps sipping his drink, but from the smug smile on his face, it looks like he agrees with this insanity that Goody’s spouting.

Vasquez makes a noise of displeasure from where he’s currently perched in Faraday’s lap. “You’re _loco_.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s sweet,” Emma says, prying herself away from Sam’s shoulder. “I mean, the fact that they can do it at all is amazing. You two probably couldn’t,” is her pointed comment at Vasquez and Faraday, which Vasquez finds offensive, seeing as the only reason he’s in Faraday’s lap at all was because Emma had needed a chair and he’d been a gentleman to give his up.

Faraday bristles beneath him, which is always a bad sign that his stubbornness is flaring. “I’ve gone months without before.”

“Intentionally?” Red snorts.

“Yes, _intentionally_ ,” Faraday mimics Red’s tone with a roll of his eyes. “The girl I was with didn’t want to sleep together until I met her parents and they kept having to reschedule our first acquaintance, so I wound up going three months without.”

Vasquez is actually impressed, seeing as most days it seems like Faraday can’t go a few hours without plastering himself up against Vasquez for absent kisses or groping touches that always lead to the bedroom. It is, of course, why he thinks the story is complete bullshit.

“You think you’ve gone the longest without? No,” Vasquez says, shaking his head. “I’ve gone longer. Catholic school shame,” is all he says, seeing as he’d spent many teenage years actually thinking he needed to behave or Jesus would get him. If not Jesus, then definitely his _abuela_. It had also meant that his boyfriend at the time had been very unhappy with him, seeing as he wouldn’t give in for fear of eternal damnation. 

“You know, there’s a real easy way to prove who can hold out longer,” says Faraday.

Their friends, while drunk, clearly know what’s happening and the mood shifts on a dime. Billy groans, Red looks like he’s just discovered the best new reality show, and Emma is giving them a look that says that they need to scrape up some brains between the two of them and think about what they’re doing. It’s too late, though. Vasquez has had too much to drink to be sensible, Faraday is stubborn as a mule, and history dictates that there’s no going back from this road, now that they’re here. 

“Whoever breaks first has to cook for a month, do the laundry, and three immediate freebies on sex, even if the other’s too tired,” Faraday negotiates.

Vasquez raises his brow and sticks out his hand. “I would do this just for the satisfaction of beating you,” he promises, “but I won’t mind you doing my laundry. Remember that you need to use bleach when you wash the whites,” he says with a flash of a smirk, already knowing that he’s got this in the bag. He just has to outlast Faraday, a man he’s been living with for the last two years. He’s a man that Vasquez knows inside and out, which means he knows how to weaken him until he’s pleading for it.

No one’s said he can’t _tempt_ the man, either, so to Vasquez, they’ll be back to normal within days.

“Deal,” Faraday says, shaking Vasquez’s hand before pitching him violently right out of his lap, sending a tipsy Vasquez to the dirty floor. Faraday leans forward, hands on his knees and shrugs, “Sorry, sweetheart, but bet’s started and I can’t have you in my lap. It’s an unfair advantage for me, you getting yourself all riled with my rock-hard thighs under you.”

Vasquez swears under his breath and in that moment, he vows to destroy Faraday until he’s _begging_ for mercy.

* * *

The next morning is a haze to Vasquez, who wakes up with his cheek pressed to Faraday’s bare chest. There’s a washcloth nearby that’s gone dry, but when Vasquez reaches for it, intending to clean up whatever drunken mess they’ve made, he finds none. That’s when their little deal comes ricocheting back to him like a bullet. 

“Ugh,” Faraday groans, letting out an unholy noise as he drags himself from where he’s currently mouthing a pillow. “I think I drank the worm out of the tequila last night.” He blearily opens one eye to stare at Vasquez, taking in the sight of him and the nudity of him, looking all hopeful. “Did you already give in to me?”

“No,” Vasquez says, sure of that much. He’s still wearing his boxers, which is proof enough that he hadn’t folded. He’s always too lazy after they fuck to get dressed again, which means that their bet is still on.

Faraday makes a disappointed face, wrinkling his nose. “Guess we’re doing this for real, huh?”

In the harsh light of morning, with Faraday so close, and morning wood so present and annoying, Vasquez is debating giving in. The only thing that stops him is the stubborn glint in Faraday’s eyes that sets his resolve. There’s no way that he’s going to fold so easily. “We are,” he agrees. “Ground rules?”

“Name ‘em, sweetheart.”

“No fucking around outside of this bed, unless you want to get dumped,” Vasquez says darkly, knowing that in the early days of their relationship, they’d been fairly open about sleeping with other people, but if Faraday tries that now, Vasquez might get Josh’s service revolver and shoot him with it. 

There’s a look of pure murder on Faraday’s face, which means that he’s clearly on the same page. “Done. Touching ourselves?”

“Still allowed,” Vasquez says, mainly because there’s no use in going completely insane. “Any other boundaries?”

“No roping in family members for guilt,” Faraday insists after taking a moment to think about it. “And you’re not allowed to haul out old Halloween costumes from the bin because that’s playing dirty. No babysitting and taking pictures of yourself being all fatherly and shit, no horse-riding…”

“Can I do anything?” Vasquez interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes. It’s a long list from Faraday, but it’s oddly reassuring. It means that his boyfriend is more than likely to fold when Vasquez stumbles on a weakness that he’s forgotten to put on the list with the rest of them. It’s only a matter of time before he wins this bet.

Faraday makes a show of thinking about it, but as he sprawls towards Vasquez, he knows that the list has come to an end. 

“You can kiss me, is what you can do,” Faraday says, which means that it must still be on the table. 

Vasquez huffs out a laugh and momentarily forgets about how stupid this whole bet is while he lets his fingers slide over the hair at Faraday’s temples before he cups him by the nape of the neck and tumbles him down, pinning him to the bed with a lazy, languid kiss that lasts until Faraday’s second alarm goes off. Even though it’s Saturday, Faraday’s been on weekend shifts at the precinct, which is already stealing a lot of their time together, seeing as one of them is always working.

Once more, Vasquez wonders what the hell they’re doing, making this worse for themselves. 

Then again, feeling Faraday’s erection pressed against his hip, he also thinks that he’s going to be able to solve that little problem soon enough. “Go,” Vasquez encourages, his voice rough and disappointed. Even if they didn’t have a bet on, they wouldn’t have time to do anything. “Get dressed, I’ll make you a protein shake.”

“Damn, I knew landing a physiotherapist was smart of me.”

Vasquez snorts derisively. “Landed,” he echoes mockingly. “I don’t know if the precinct forcing you to use my services after you nearly lost use of your leg is you landing me.”

“You’re the one who agreed to go out with me once I was better and now look at us,” Faraday says with a charming grin, rolling himself out of bed with a heavy _thunk_ when his feet hit the floor like anchors. “Living together in sin.”

Vasquez rolls his eyes and gives an unimpressed snort. “Get dressed, _guero_ , I’ll have something ready before you go.” 

He busies himself and works off his hangover in the kitchen as he makes a smoothie for himself and something more substantial for Faraday, stuffing as many vitamins and vegetables into the blender as he can, packing a granola bar beside it. Faraday wanders downstairs in a tight pair of jeans and a button-down that Vasquez is more than happy to wind his fingers into the collar of, tugging him in to align their bodies together.

“You know this ain’t going anywhere,” Faraday replies, sounding amused.

“I know,” Vasquez replies, as sweetly as he can, but he’s got some groundwork to do and that means getting Faraday nicely riled. With one more tug of his fingers, he gets Faraday flush against the sleep-warm pajamas he’s put on, the long line of his thigh pressed against Faraday’s crotch. “I just thought you should know how much I’m going to miss you while you work today,” he says and he isn’t even lying, seeing as he means every word of it.

Vasquez revels in the heavy bob and swallow of Faraday’s Adam’s apple as Vasquez slides his fingers over Faraday’s back, leaning in for a slow kiss that belongs at a train station before someone departs for the war and not just a sleepy suburban kitchen. He releases Faraday when he, himself, is dazed, and presses the smoothie into his hand, then the granola bar into the other.

“Ale, I…”

“Have a good day at work,” Vasquez says, with a helpful smack of Faraday’s ass. “Don’t let anyone get the best of you before I can, _lo entiendes_?”

Just like that, it’s like he’s tempted fate. Determination, fierce and sudden, flares in Faraday’s eyes as if he’s just remembered what’s at stake, which means that while Vasquez has clearly had an effect on him, he’s also not about to collect the prize anytime soon. 

Faraday leaves, walking backwards out the door, as if he’s wary to turn his back on Vasquez, but then he’s gone and Vasquez is back to being alone in their townhome without even the clumsy, rushed hand job he usually gets the morning after a heavy drink. He tries to hold back the disappointment, but doesn’t really succeed. 

It’s a long day for Vasquez, but he has a lot to do and two client visits in the middle of the day that occupy him. He beats Faraday home, so Vasquez digs out one of their favorite recipes, making sweet potato fries and stuffed chicken, texting Faraday when it’s thirty minutes from ready. He mills around the house, drinking a beer as he does, and hums his acknowledgement when he hears Faraday come in the front door.

“Jesus,” Faraday groans, latching himself onto Vasquez the moment he sees him, “I swear to god, if I have to arrest another Babington brother, I’m gonna go crazy,” he mumbles, his words interspersed with kisses to Vasquez’s neck.

Pulse already starting to race, Vasquez knows that if he just shuts up and lets Faraday work, he’ll win this bet. It’s a habit of Faraday’s to come home after a Saturday shift, pent up or bored out of his mind and wanting to blow off some steam before dinner. So long as Vasquez doesn’t remind him what’s at stake, he’s bound to win.

“I don’t understand how there are so many of them,” Faraday keeps bitching, his fingers slowly descending to brush thumbs over Vasquez’s hips.

Vasquez inhales sharply, a short little intake of breath, and that’s when Faraday freezes.

_Fuck_ , he had been doing so well, why did he have to go and ruin it?

“You were just going to let me lose like that?” Faraday complains, instantly prying his hands off of Vasquez, which is the one of the most disappointing thing he’s had to deal with in recent memory. Faraday heads to the stove to pick up the dinner and set it on the table, eyeing Vasquez like he might strike at any time just to get his hands on the other man. 

It’s a little much, given that Vasquez is only annoyed that his plans have fallen through. It’s not like he’s that desperate yet.

They settle into a tense dinner as Faraday bitches about work, with Vasquez giving his own updates about what he’d done all day. Vasquez tries to subtly check and make sure that Faraday isn’t having any lingering pains from his accident all those years ago and even though Faraday hesitates, he’s not limping or favoring the other leg in such a strong way. It’s a good sign, not only because he’s in good shape, but because it also means Vasquez won’t be massaging out the aches in Faraday’s thigh anytime soon.

Faraday does the dishes while Vasquez checks his emails, hating that their usual routine has been thrown off. Normally, they’d let the dishes sit and take advantage of the early evening to head to the couch for some television that inevitably leads to a heavy make out session, followed by getting naked, and at least two rounds of sex. Instead, Vasquez buries himself in a boring old textbook about pressure points and Faraday ends up watching the game on television. They sit two feet apart, with Vasquez’s feet in Faraday’s lap until that’s, apparently, too much and Faraday goes to sit in the armchair that’s even further.

Vasquez thinks that’s the worst of it, but then comes sleeping arrangements. At first, Vasquez tries to stay away from Faraday’s body. It’s a losing battle, though, eventually deciding that it’s worse to sleep so far from Faraday than to torture himself a little.

Huffing and sliding back over, he forcibly draws Faraday’s arm into his, turning and draping it over his waist, settling in as the little spoon. Only when he’s lined up flush with Faraday does he finally feel settled, ignoring the amused chuff of laughter at his ear, that warm exhalation of breath a special kind of torture in itself, but it’s all worth it for the way he feels secure and safe in Faraday’s arms like this.

“Needy tonight, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“As if you can sleep apart from me and get any rest?” Vasquez counters.

The long silence from Faraday is proof enough that he’s right. It might only be day one, but Vasquez is already starting to feel like things aren’t working the way they’re meant to, like things are grinding harder than they need to, but in the dark and with Faraday’s heartbeat lulling him to sleep, he tells himself it’s not forever.

It’s only until he _wins_.

* * *

“God damn it,” Faraday hisses when his phone pings again. Emma glances up from her desk to look at Faraday, where he’s trying to adjust himself without actually calling attention to that fact in the middle of a police station, but given the text he’s just received, he’s pretty sure he’s going to be asking one of his esteemed colleagues to arrest him for public indecency soon. 

The current picture open on his phone is Vasquez sprawled on their _beautiful_ , comfortable silk sheets, naked with the curve of his hipbones visible just above the sheets. He must have just gotten in from his run, because he’s shiny with sweat, flushed, and the one hand he has is positioned at the curve of his golden hip.

“Problems?” Emma asks, too-sweetly.

Faraday gives a whine when another photo comes in. This one has Vasquez’s ass in the picture, a perfect shot of the sunlight hitting it and the caption ‘you know you want to fold’ beneath it.

This is getting out of hand, but the Faradays have been a stubborn people for more generations than he can even count, which means that he’s not about to let his irresistibly sexy boyfriend get the best of him just because he knows how badly Faraday wants to touch him all over, get on his knees for him, get his mouth on him…

“Emma!” he barks, shoving his phone at her. “I need you to put this in a freezer for me.”

“Josh, that’s probably going to…”

“I don’t care, just put it somewhere cold and out of my sight. I need to go take a shower.”

“It’s lunchtime,” Emma replies, with that mischievous look in her eye that says she knows exactly why he’s all pent up. Worse, that look says that he deserves it because he’s an idiot of mass proportions for taking on a bet like this. Truth is, he’s starting to wonder why he’s even bothering, because everyone is suffering. He’s hurting, Vasquez is clearly thirsty for it, and he imagines this can’t be a walk in the park for their friends either.

How is it that it’s only been two days and they’re already ramping up to this level of frustration?

Suddenly, an idea comes to him and he yanks for his phone back from her. “Hey,” he says, when he sees that she’s been scrolling through his very personal photo album that consists of forty-percent pictures of Vasquez sleeping, forty-percent candids, and the other twenty percent are pictures not fit for public conversation. “You remember that stripper we arrested the other week? Sergeant Bad Boy?”

“I don’t like where this is going, but yes,” Emma deadpans.

“I need you to come take some photos for me.”

She stares at him.

Faraday stares back.

Then, finally, Emma sighs and reaches for the phone as she relents with a shrug of her shoulders and a nod of her head, like she can’t exactly believe that she’s agreeing to this, but she’s got nothing better to do with her lunch break. “If you win, I’m sneaking in a few loads of laundry with yours to take advantage of being one of your known associates.”

“Deal.”

Later, when Vasquez texts him back with ‘if we were married, this would be grounds for our divorce or maybe evidence for why I murdered you’, Faraday knows that the pictures have done the desired task.

Unfortunately, what he hadn’t counted on was the fact that while he’d insisted on no cowboy costumes, he maybe didn’t think about getting into the specifics, because the picture Vasquez sends of himself all tied up with lasso ropes to the bed, neckerchief gag in his mouth makes Faraday instantly think two things:

The first is the curiosity about how long it would take him to get home if he ran the siren.

The second, more frightening thought, is _who the hell tied up his boyfriend like that and took the picture_?

* * *

Later, Faraday finds out that Red had been the one to tie up Vasquez and make all those pretty little rope marks in his skin that were still there when Faraday brushed his fingers over them that night, briefly wondering whether it was worth it to continue the bet.

He’d held strong, but barely, but one thing’s for sure.

Faraday _really_ hates Red more than anyone else in the world at this particular moment.

* * *

“Where’s Faraday?” Teddy asks, dropping off the supplies that Vasquez had texted him to bring over, unwilling to leave the house in the event Faraday might come home.

Things have been getting difficult, even though they’ve just barely passed the four-day mark. He really thought that he’d be better at this, but he hadn’t counted on the part where the last time he’d gone so long without had been when he didn’t have anyone like Faraday in his life. This time, he’s desperately in love with a man and can’t even touch him. 

Vasquez grunts as he keeps working on the wardrobe he’s been trying to build. A few days ago, he’d thought that maybe he could end up persuading Faraday to break. He’d sent filthy text after filthy text, had even worn nothing but the Speedo that he’d refused to wear on their last all-inclusive vacation just because Faraday likes it so much on him, but no, nothing has managed to break his boyfriend’s resolve.

Working the wood more intently, Vasquez feels like he’s grinding his teeth so badly that they might break. “He went to the shooting range with Emma,” he replies, when he trusts himself to speak. “We were supposed to have a date.”

Date night has been cancelled, on account of the fact that rather than break and sleep with Vasquez, Faraday has decided he’d much rather spend their date night at a shooting range packing bullets into targets. Vasquez had offered to go with him, because he likes spending time there with Faraday, but the man had brusquely shut him down, insisting that it did nothing to get out the aggression if he had to watch Vasquez spin his pistols.

This bet is quickly becoming the wrong kind of pain in the ass.

“You two going to manage to get through the wedding this weekend without killing someone?” Teddy asks, perching himself on Vasquez’s workbench and staring at him with a genuinely concerned look on his face. Normally, he would snap at Teddy for being an idiot, but he has a point.

They’ve been known to do slightly stupid things at the best of times. Right now, they’re sex-deprived, anxious, and annoyed. It will be a miracle if they don’t end up burning something down by the end of the week.

Still, for Billy and Goodnight, Vasquez knows that he will behave and will make sure that Faraday stays in line. Sanding down the wood with a little more viciousness than it needs or deserves, he knows that if he ends up ruining this wedding, he’s going to possibly pay for it with his life, seeing as he has a suspicion that Billy isn’t just a gardener by trade and is actually a spy working for an agency.

The man always laughs when Vasquez asks if he is, but that’s why it’s so suspicious. Billy _never_ laughs so easy.

“We’ll make it work,” he says, hearing a text coming in on his phone. He’s not proud of the way that he leaps for it, only to be disappointed when it’s Faraday telling him that he and Emma are going to be out later than expected, going to dinner at the restaurant _they_ were supposed to have _their_ date at.

“Vasquez?” Teddy asks warily, when the look of pure murder crosses his face.

“We’ll make it through the wedding,” he promises, icy and cold as he raises to his feet. 

Woodworking is not enough. Maybe if he gets to the gym in time, he can convince Jack Horne to go a round in the ring with him. He’s feeling just masochistic enough, at the moment, to think that’s a good idea.

* * *

Despite Vasquez’s worries that he and Faraday’s immature pissing contest might get in the way of the wedding, he’s been proven pleasantly wrong. The vows are beautiful, the cake is lovely, and Goodnight takes Billy around the floor for a first dance that has most of the room crying from jealousy or from sheer joy that the men have found something like this. Vasquez glances down the head table to where Faraday is telling Sam a story, clearly still strung up and tense from the way he’s gripping his wine glass so hard that his knuckles are white.

This has gone on long enough.

He’s sure that a person can’t actually explode from lack of sex, but Vasquez has a man that he loves beyond words and is purposely preventing himself from having sex with him. He’s mad, crazy, _loco_ beyond the telling of it. He sets his napkin down on the table and excuses himself from the conversation he’s in with Jack to head down to where Faraday and Sam are talking.

Squeezing Faraday’s shoulders, he leans over to brush a kiss to his temple, feeling the way Faraday tightens up at the affection, like he’s either worried about the fact that Vasquez is offering it or maybe because he’s just as highly strung and is ready to fold. Vasquez has to hope it's the second.

“Sorry, Sam,” Vasquez says, sliding his palms over Faraday’s chest. “Can I steal him for a dance?”

“Be my guest,” Sam says, gesturing to the dance floor where a few daring couples are slow-dancing in the glittering light of a disco ball while smaller white lights twinkle like stars in criss-crossing grids above.

Faraday looks at the hand Vasquez is offering suspiciously, like it’s a trick. Maybe a few days ago, it might have been. Maybe Vasquez would have dragged him off to the bathroom to try and seduce him into folding on the bet, but he’s tired and feeling a little sappy after watching two of their best friends get married, and he just wants to hold his boyfriend in his arms again. Lucky for him, Faraday seems weak-willed, too, and takes Vasquez’s hand as he stands.

He lets Faraday lead when they hit the dance floor, even if they do little more than shuffle side to side, hands already starting a campaign of groping – Vasquez with one tangled in Faraday’s hair, the other on his hip, and both of Faraday’s hands securely on his ass – and it’s the closest they’ve been to each other in nearly a week and a half, excluding the moments they curl into each other in bed.

“I’ve missed the hell out of you, you know,” says Faraday, his words raw and aching.

“I think you know that goes both ways,” Vasquez replies, his lips so close to Faraday’s ear. He wants to kiss the soft skin, there, and strip Faraday like the present he looks like in that suit of his. Vasquez lets out a long, low sigh that sounds lonely to his ears. “You keep cancelling date nights.”

“I can’t have those with you, you know I’m bound to give in. What about you, huh? Won’t even pick up the phone when I call from work,” Faraday accuses, sounding hurt.

“Because I know if I hear your voice, I’ll want to beg you to come home and do all the things to me that we bet that we could hold out on.”

The wedding is beautiful and, if Vasquez is honest, is the most romantic thing he’s seen in his lifetime. He’s had just enough wine to make him pleasantly warm and tipsy, everyone is infectiously happy, and the dance floor sparkles with little lights. All of it makes him think that he’s being a fool keeping this bet going. Lucky for him, Faraday looks equally miserable, which means that he has the slightest chance to say something reasonable and not instantly end up doing laundry for a month.

“Listen, I…”

“Josh, let me…”

Near them, their friends are dancing. Vasquez takes one quick look at how Billy and Goodnight are curled in together and he decides that fuck it, he’s willing to let his pride sting a little if it means he gets to be with his boyfriend the way he misses. It’s not just the sex, it’s the date nights and the conversations and the closeness and actually having a boyfriend instead of avoiding him on the off chance they might sleep together.

Vasquez and Faraday share an amused look. “You first,” Vasquez allows.

“Look, this whole exercise has been a reason why we shouldn’t ever let our friends talk us into shit while we’re drunk,” Faraday finally says, as they sway to the music, as if they had been talked into anything and hadn’t brought this on themselves. “I’m miserable, you’re miserable, and all for what? Even our friends got sick of us doing this days ago.”

He’s right, Vasquez knows he is, but he waits to let Faraday finish his thought.

“So, I came up with a brilliant idea, being the genius that I am.” 

Vasquez lets out a disbelieving huff as he rolls his eyes, giving Faraday a look that tells him to go on, because at this point, trying to deflate his ego will just be a waste of time.

“Go on, guero.”

“I think that you and I have both proven that faced with adversity and temptation, we’re more than capable of fighting the good fight.” Faraday’s fingers are lightly stroking just under Vasquez’s jacket, a pathetic look in his eyes, all parts desperate and hopeful. “Sweetheart, I’m saying let’s call it a tie. We can split the punishment, I don’t care, but god help me, let me fuck you.”

Vasquez’s heart leaps with want and the happiness he lets out is possibly the happiest he’s ever sounded in his life. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, cinching his fingers over Faraday’s waist to drag him in for a messy, needy kiss. “Josh, yes, yes, a million times, yes.” 

“We gave our gift, right?”

Vasquez nods hurriedly, already pushing Faraday towards the door.

“And we said bye to them…?”

“Who cares,” Vasquez snaps, “they know we love them, support them, we ate dinner at the table, we watched them slice cake.”

“Did you bring…?”

“Just in case, yes,” Vasquez replies, not even sheepish as he goes on, “Just in case, I prepared myself.”

Faraday looks like he might just weep from happiness. “Then move that firm ass of yours a hell of a lot faster.”

They nearly crash into Emma and Red on their way out, giggling like they’re idiot teen boys again, but now that their self-imposed torture is soon to end, Vasquez doesn’t care who knows that they’re immature and stupid. So long as he gets to be immature and stupid with Faraday from now on, he’s willing to endure the inevitable ribbing that they’ll get from their friends.

“I’m not planning on letting you rest for at least four hours,” Faraday promises, pressing nuzzling kisses against Vasquez’s neck.

Vasquez inhales deeply, feeling the rush go to his head, and decides right there and then that he would’ve done _three_ months of laundry for this. Lucky for him, it’s all wound up a tie.

* * *

It takes a record-breaking five hours before either of them is willing to throw in the towel and admit that they probably need to get food, water, and give their poor bodies a break. It’s a good lesson that neither of them should go this long without sleeping with each other ever again, but the unfortunate reality is that no winner means all the suffering was for nothing.

Still, as Vasquez lifts Faraday’s arm so that he can position himself curled up against the man’s body, he’s not sure he cares about anything in the world right now apart from the warm press of Faraday next to him. 

“It was a good wedding,” Vasquez admits, more than happy to say so. He’s stroking his fingers slowly up and down Faraday’s chest, sliding through chest hair as he smiles fondly and snorts to himself. “Didn’t expect Billy to be the one crying at the altar,” he admits.

“Goodnight had some damn good vows,” Faraday admits, “The man may be a pompous asshole a lot of the time, but he knows his way around a speech.”

“This is true,” Vasquez agrees, letting out a soft breath of praise as Faraday gets his fingers tangled in his hair, brushing his thumb against the nape of his neck just the way he likes after they have sex. “I don’t know that I would ever be the one crying at an altar, like that, not even if the man I loved was standing there talking about how he would have died if not for meeting him.” He means it in the abstract way, mainly because in Billy and Goody’s case, it’s true. Billy had literally saved Goody’s life, making the speech a heart-rending, honest thing that had half the room sniffling into their handkerchiefs.

Absently, Faraday moves his hand down to stroke at the bare skin of Vasquez’s hip. “You saying that if you were standing up there with a priest in front of you, pledging your life away to the man you love, me, at my handsomest and most charming, you wouldn’t shed a tear.”

“Not one, _guero_.”

There’s a long pause, which has Vasquez instantly suspicious, because long pauses with Faraday usually mean that something is afoot and that it’s been in the works for longer than Vasquez wants to think about.

“Well,” he drawls, “I bet that I could make you cry with my vows.”

There’s a heaviness to the way he says it, like this isn’t some post-sex challenge that will inevitably fall apart when they both come back to earth. Vasquez isn’t sure, but he thinks that there’s even a hint of worry in Faraday’s tone, like he’s not sure this is going to go the way he wants it.

Deciding he wants to see where this goes, Vasquez plays along. “Then, you’d have to propose first, if you intend for us to have a wedding where you think you can make me cry.”

“Well, in that case, I bet that you won’t marry me,” Faraday unleashes the words like he’s been dying to get them out, a determined, eager glimmer in his eye.

Laughing, Vasquez shoves Faraday off the bed, enjoying the heavy _thump_ of his body hitting the ground. He hadn`t meant to push so hard, but Vasquez feels overly joyful and stupid after some much-needed sex. He’s extra giddy with the terrible marriage proposal that’s been so shoddily given to him and Vasquez crawls after him, lying on his stomach and resting his chin on the rumpled sheets to grin at his boyfriend.

Maybe his fiancé?

Still, he lets the silence draw out as Faraday works to untangle himself from the duvet, staring up at the way Vasquez is looking at him more fondly than he probably has since before this whole mess started.

“Is that a yes?” Faraday asks hopefully.

No ring, no elaborate proposal, no real plans, but does he need any of that? He knows he loves the man, shouldn’t that be enough?

“I’ll take that bet,” is what Vasquez says, hauling Faraday back up into bed so that they can start in on round number seven, with his _fiancé_.


End file.
